


Turn to Ashes and Rest

by CrunchyWrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Critical Role (Wildemount Campaign)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchyWrites/pseuds/CrunchyWrites
Summary: Caleb has nightmares sometimes. Fjord helps.





	Turn to Ashes and Rest

Caleb has nightmares sometimes.

Fjord doesn’t know what they’re about, and he doesn’t want to. Caleb has never spoken about them and Fjord has never asked, and so the question of what, exactly, haunts Caleb in his sleeping hours remains unanswered. All Fjord knows is that they happen irregularly, with no apparently rhyme or reason to their pattern, and when they do happen they leave Caleb shaking and shivering and wild-eyed and seeking out Fjord and Fjord’s presence like they are the only solace he has.

Fjord doesn’t think the rest of the party even knows about the nightmares.

Well, _most_ of the party. Nott clearly knows about them – how could she not, with how close she and Caleb are? – but Fjord can’t imagine that Caleb would have been willing to share the truth of his unsettled slumber with the other members of their group. He’s a private person, and Fjord respects that – he has secrets of his own, after all – and though it’s well known to all that Caleb is far from the strongest person of their group, he still seems to have some desire to appear… _collected_. Put together, emotionally and mentally if not physically. He cares for Nott, and he cares for the others whether he admits it or not, and he doesn’t want to seem weaker than he is.

Which leaves Fjord all the more confused about why Caleb comes to him, and why Nott hasn’t said anything to him about it.

Because Nott _knows_. Nott knows about the nightmares, and if the sharp, pointed looks she gave Fjord over the fire the morning after the first time it happened are anything to go by, she knows about Caleb’s coping mechanism too. She’s never brought it up though, has never mentioned it or asked Fjord about it, and Fjord has remained silent in kind. Whatever this is, however his _relationship_ with Caleb is developing, Fjord feels it is something best left to the shadows; it feels too tentative to expose to the light of morning and to the scrutiny of others, feels fragile and glass-spun like the touch of sunlight could shatter it into a thousand pieces and leave Fjord picking the shards from his hands.

He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever _this_ is, because whether he admits it to anyone else or not, the fact still remains that he has grown undeniably fond of the wizard.

It is a bit of shame then, he feels, that the aforementioned wizard isn’t talking about it either.

Because this is… this is _something_ , even if Fjord doesn’t know _what_. He’d thought at first that it was just proximity that had led Caleb to his tent on that first night; he’d thought that Caleb had simply woken with dreams still raging behind his eyelids and had sought out whoever was closest in an attempt to keep the nightmares at bay, but he knows now that that isn’t it. Because even if his tent _was_ the closest one to Caleb’s that night – and he knows, he _checked_ , Jester has an uncanny knack for remembering things like that – the fact still remains that Caleb and Nott share a tent more often than not. And sure, these days Nott’s beginning to spend more time with Jester or with Beau or with Molly, but on the night of the first nightmare Fjord knows that Nott was asleep on a bedroll of her own in Caleb’s tent, so he doesn’t understand why Caleb didn’t go to her instead.

Maybe the first time was a fluke. Maybe Fjord’s memory is spotty; maybe Nott _wasn’t_ there that night, making Fjord the closest person to Caleb.

_Maybe, maybe, maybe_ …

There’s a lot of _maybe’s_ around this. But even if the first time _was_ a fluke, well… that still doesn’t explain every night after that.

They don’t have a set structure to how they pitch their tents, not even slightly – it runs very much on a ‘first come, first served’ basis in terms of who gets the slightly comfier patch of grass to settle in for the night on, and as a result there’s been many a night when Fjord’s tent hasn’t been anywhere close to Caleb’s, when it’s been a few tents away or even on the far side of the fire and the camp entirely, and yet he’d still been woken by a tired, shaking, nightmare-haunted wizard pushing silently into his tent and slipping under Fjord’s blankets the moment he’d been given indication that it was okay.

All of which means that Fjord can safely assume that it’s not simple proximity that draws Caleb to his tent in the wake of a nightmare.

So what is it?

Fjord knows it’s not his strength, either. Despite his appearance and half-orc blood Fjord knows he is far from the strongest member of their party; Jester, for all her lighthearted jokes and cutesy dress is stronger than him by far, has proven it in an arm wrestling contest more than once, and Caleb has seen this, he _knows_ it, and yet he still invariably ends up in Fjord’s tent, in Fjord’s bedroll, in Fjord’s arms. If he were seeking protection, _actual_ protection from whatever haunted him then it would make much more sense for him to seek out Jester or Yasha or Beau or Molly or _anyone_ but Fjord, but he doesn’t.

He never has.

He ignores those who could offer actual, tangible physical strength in favour of a tall half-orc who sometimes coughs up seawater when he wakes up. Fjord feels like that speaks to something. He just isn’t sure what.

And by this point Fjord is _very_ certain that Caleb doesn’t go to the others tents for comfort in the night. Maybe it’s magic, maybe it’s heightened senses gifted to him by his patron, or maybe it’s just that Fjord is an unusually light sleeper when it comes to listening out for Caleb, but by this point he feels some part of his subconsciousness hears an indication of a person having a nightmare somewhere in the general direction of where Caleb is pitched, and starts waking him up so that’s he’s blearily rubbing his eyes by the time the wizard in question comes ducking in under his tent-flap.

That seems to be what happened tonight in any case.

Fjord isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep for when he feels himself starting to come to wakefulness again, and he can tell the moment he opens his eyes that there’s at least a couple more hours until the sun starts to rise. There’s no sounds of scuffling, no indication of combat, and whoever’s on watch doesn’t seem to be shouting or trying to get their attention, so it’s safe to assume that he woke because, somewhere in the camp, Caleb just woke from another nightmare and is now making his way towards Fjord’s tent-

And right on cue Caleb ducks through the tent-flap, and walks in only to stand uncertainly at the foot of Fjord’s bedroll.

It’s all Fjord can do not to roll his eyes. Surely, by now, Caleb _knows_ that he is more than welcome to come to Fjord for comfort if he needs to, and yet every time it happens, without fail, Caleb waits, quiet and patient and still shaking in the remnants of his dream until Fjord nods or pulls the blankets aside or does _something_ to indicate that he doesn’t mind Caleb being in his tent, and in his bed.

Tonight, Fjord doesn’t even sit up. He reaches a hand out, grabbing a corner of the blankets that make up his bed and pulling them back, scooting over as he does so to leave a small space for Caleb to fit into. His bedroll isn’t big and Fjord’s not exactly a small guy by any measurement, but that’s never seemed to deter Caleb. On the contrary, he seems to almost appreciate it – no sooner has Fjord made it clear that Caleb is welcome than Caleb makes a beeline for the bedroll, pulling the blankets over himself and wriggling in as close to Fjord as he can physically get.

The physical closeness had, shockingly, taken a while to develop. The first night had been undeniably awkward, at least for the first few moments, but the size of the bedroll had forced them closer together and after a while Fjord had sighed and said _Caleb, we both know it’s gonna be more comfortable for both of us if we just accept that there ain’t space here for us to sleep apart,_ and after another few awkward seconds Caleb had shuffled in and Fjord had shuffled in so that he was no longer partially lying on the ground, and then it had just seemed _right_ for him to drape an arm over Caleb’s waist, and Caleb had gasped like he’d been shocked but cuddled in further almost immediately, and that had been that.

It’s common now, and comfortable, and Fjord doesn’t think twice before shifting an arm to lay it behind Caleb’s head.

“Another one?” he mumbles, blinking open a bleary eye as Caleb curls up in his arms, tucking his face against Fjord’s neck and squeezing his eyes shut. Fjord can feel the tears dampening his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and says nothing about it. That seems to be the unspoken agreement they’ve come to – Fjord doesn’t comment on anything that happens in the darkness of his tent, and neither of them bring up the nightmares or what follows them in the light of day. And it bugs Fjord a bit, he’ll admit it, because he’s curious and nosy and wants to know _why_ Caleb comes to him night after night, climbing into his bed in silence and latching onto him like a limpet, but he doesn’t want to ask the wrong question and upset Caleb in anyway.

(He doesn’t want this – whatever _this_ is – to end.)

So instead he says his piece, falls silent, listens to Caleb’s breathing slowly evening out, and wonders if Caleb will reply tonight.

Because Caleb is… Caleb is _quiet._ He rarely speaks anymore when he climbs into Fjord’s bed, and he hasn’t said anything while entering the tent since that first night, when Fjord had woken to the sound of rustling at his tent-flap and had found his falchion in hand before he was even really awake, only to see a lone, trembling wizard standing illuminated by the dying light of the fire, and Fjord had said _Caleb?_ And Caleb has said _I’m sorry,_ and there had been a few moments of absolute silence before Caleb had lifted an arm and dragged it across his face and whispered out _I was wondering if I could perhaps share your bedroll?_ And Fjord, more than half asleep and very confused but also very tired had just said _yeah, yeah, sure, okay_ , and that had been that.

And the next time it happened Caleb had said nothing, and then the time after that had been the same, and now Fjord is so accustomed to identifying Caleb’s approach by the sound of his footsteps instead of his voice that he really thinks it would be more of a surprise if Caleb _did_ speak to him when he ducked into the tent.

Whether Caleb will talk once he’s actually in Fjord’s bed is a more hit-and-miss kind of thing. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t, and Fjord has as of yet been unable to find any pattern to when Caleb replies. No reply seems to be forthcoming tonight though, and so Fjord wraps one arm around Caleb’s waist, pulling him in impossibly closer, and starts playing with his hair with his other hand.

Caleb rarely wants to talk about his nightmares, and Fjord gets that. Whatever they are they can’t possibly be _pleasant –_ hell, that’s why they’re nightmares to begin with – and Fjord knows that _he_ certainly wouldn’t want to hash out the exact details of whatever freaky shit his brain presents him with at night with anyone else, and Caleb is a noticeably more private and reserved person than he is, so it makes a lot of sense that he wants to keep the contents of his dreams to himself. Instead, he seems to seek out physical comfort in any form, and so Fjord does what he can to provide that instead. Words don’t work, but apparently cuddles from a tall half-orc do. More often than not Fjord’s found that light, gentle contact is what Caleb needs to calm down enough that he can fall back asleep, and Fjord feels that gently running his fingers through Caleb’s hair is sufficiently platonic. He doesn’t want to read into this. Caleb has given no sign of having any romantic interest towards Fjord, and Fjord doesn’t want to ruin what they have just because he’s been coming to the realisation that his feelings towards the wizard run somewhat deeper than ‘appreciation and respect’ for a few weeks now.

So Fjord doesn’t push the question, doesn’t do anything to indicate that he’s expecting a response, and is completely prepared to not hear Caleb speak again until morning.

 Caleb sighs against Fjord’s chest, the sound catching in his throat, and for a while Fjord thinks that this might be another one of the nights when Caleb doesn’t speak to him at all, when he only makes small, faint sounds and presses himself against Fjord like he could sink into his skin and find solace and security amongst Fjord’s very bones, but then a few more moments pass, and Caleb finally speaks.

“Yes,” Caleb says eventually, and the word is more of a whisper, a gasp: it’s only thanks to the silence of the night air that Fjord can hear his answer at all. “I- yes. Another one.”

It’s not a shock to hear those words, but it upsets Fjord all the same. He doesn’t _want_ Caleb to have nightmares – the man seems to sleep poorly enough as it is, even when they’re staying at an actual inn and not just in the safest-seeming patch of ground they could find, and Fjord goddamn hates it when he joins the others around the fire in the morning and seems Caleb tousle-haired and bleary-eyed and with bags under his eyes so dark they’re starting to look like bruises. He _hates_ it. He wants to find the nicest, softest fucking mattress he can and point Caleb to it and order him not to wake up for _at least_ eight hours, and then he wants to make sure that he eats something good and solid and maybe takes a bath as well.

But he can’t say any of that in response to Caleb’s acknowledgement of the nightmare, so instead he says “Alright,” and starts getting ready to go back to sleep.

There’s a few long minutes of unbroken silence.

“…I’m sorry,” Caleb says out of the blue, and Fjord blinks himself awake.

“For what?” he asks.

“For this.”

“You don’t gotta apologise, Caleb.”

Caleb breaths out a soft, ragged laugh against Fjord’s neck. “All the same, I feel I should.”

“…Why?”

Fjord can’t see his face, but he’s sure that Caleb’s frowning against him. “Because this is your tent,” Caleb says slowly, “And your bedroll. You do not have to share either with me. You would sleep better if your sleep was not disturbed by me.”

Fjord shrugs. “No guarantee of that,” he says. With his patron, there’s no guarantee of _anything_ , let alone restful slumber on any given night. “’Sides, it sure seems that this helps you sleep.” He pauses, more for emphasis than to mull on his words, and adds, “It _does_ help you sleep, right?”

“Of course it does,” Caleb replies, and Fjord can hear his confusion at the obvious question.

“So there we go. You certainly ain’t ruining my sleep, and you’re sleepin’ better as a bonus, so I don’t see any good reason to kick you out. You’re an important member of this team, Caleb. We need you well-rested.”

“But I am taking up your space,” Caleb says quietly.

Fjord sighs. “Caleb, there wasn’t enough space in this damn bedroll to begin with, and no offence to you, of course, but you’re not exactly the biggest space-stealer, y’know? I was going to be squeezed for space no matter what, and I want you to sleep well. Doin’ this gets you a good nights sleep at the same time. I don’t see a downside to it.”

“Oh,” Caleb says, “I see,” and then he falls silent for a while.

It’s more words than they typically exchange on any given night, and Fjord’s entirely expecting the conversation to stop there. All the same, it somehow doesn’t come as much of a surprise when Caleb speaks again.

“… So you don’t mind?” Caleb asks, and there’s so much quiet, yearning _hope_ in his voice that it almost makes Fjord want to cry, because _no one_ should be this pathetically grateful just for some simple comfort and assurance.

“Not at all,” Fjord says, and he does his best to make his words definite, certain; something that can’t be argued with. He tightens his arm around Caleb, draws him in closer, and doesn't stop running his fingers through Caleb's hair. “Hell, Caleb, but if treatin’ me as your own personal teddy bear makes you sleep better, then I’m all for it.”

Fjord feels Caleb take a breath, and is more than expecting him to come up with another selfless objection, another reason why Fjord _shouldn’t_ let him in his bed, and Fjord is entirely prepared to quietly argue his point again and again until Caleb finally accepts that, just maybe, Fjord might genuinely not mind sharing his bedroll with Caleb. That Fjord might actually enjoy it.

But, this time, Caleb says none of that.

“Thank you,” Caleb says instead, and Fjord smiles.

“Any time,” he replies, and lapses back into silence.

At least, he does for a while.

Because it seems that tonight is just turning out to be the night in which every question he’s ever had for Caleb about… _this,_ whatever _this_ is, starts bubbling to the surface. He feels he’s already pushed the boundary of how many words Caleb is willing to say in any given night, and yet he already desperately wants to ask more. The very air seems expectant, pulling on his vocal chords like even the shadows that crowd the corners of the tent want him to speak, and Fjord is tired and curious and he feels that if there were any night in which Caleb would be willing to talk, tonight would be it.

All the same, he is worried.

All the same, he speaks anyway.

“…Caleb?”

There’s a rustle, and Fjord feels Caleb stir against him. “…Mm?”

_He shouldn’t ask this_. He knows he shouldn’t ask this, and yet he’s going to anyway. It’s the first rule – the _only_ rule – of their silent relationship: they do not talk about what happens at night. Ever. For all Fjord knows, what he’s about to ask could ruin this fragile, delicate thing they have and leave him alone in his tent and very possibly at the sharp end of one of Nott’s crossbow bolts, because he has no doubts about what she would do if she thought that Fjord had in some way made Caleb uncomfortable.

But he needs to ask.

He needs to know the answer.

So Fjord steels himself, gathers his courage as if preparing for battle, takes a breath, and speaks.

“Why me?”

It takes less time than Fjord expects for Caleb to answer.

He can almost feel Caleb frowning against his shoulder, and is more than prepared to speak again and provide Caleb with an out, tell him that he doesn’t have to answer, that it doesn’t matter, that Fjord shouldn’t have asked to begin with, but before he can even start lining the words up on his tongue he feels Caleb’s chest expand in a breath against him, and shuts his mouth with a _click_.

“I feel safest with you,” Caleb says simply, and Fjord thinks he feels his heart skip a beat. “I- it was not a… _conscious_ choice the first time this happened. I just- I awoke, and I-“ Caleb pauses, takes a breath, and Fjord can hear the way it catches in his throat. The _I needed comfort for the nightmare_ goes unsaid, but the words hang heavy in the air all the same; a noose neither of them are willing to step into yet. “I found myself by your tent,” Caleb continues. “I do not know why my feet carried me there but they did all the same, and so I decided that it would at least be worth an attempt, and then, well…” He trails off, shrugging, and it’s only when he moves that Fjord realises that somewhere in the midst of all that had been said his hand had moved to Caleb’s back, where it’s still running up and down in slow, soothing strokes. He doesn’t stop it – Caleb has made no indication of not wanting Fjord’s hand there, and Fjord feels that if he were to move it now that would in some way make things awkward. He doesn’t want that.

In his arms, Caleb starts talking again.

“I slept better that night,” he says, slightly shakily. “I did not know why, but I- I slept easy in your company. I do not normally sleep so easily, even on the best of nights, let alone after a-“ Another pause, another trembling breath. Fjord wants to find the nightmare that did this to Caleb and tear it from the world. “-After what happened,” Caleb continues. “I do not sleep easily after them. But with you I did, and so the next time the situation arose I decided to test the hypothesis, and I slept easily again, and then again after that. And then,” Caleb says, so quietly that Fjord could have missed it, “I did not want to go to anyone else.”

_Oh._

That’s- it’s- it is _not_ what Fjord was expecting to hear.

He was expecting- well, he’s not really sure what he was expecting, but he knows it wasn’t that. He was expecting something more along the lines of ‘you were convenient and didn’t say no, and there’s no point in disturbing anyone else when I know I can share your tent instead’, harsh as that may sound. And yes, the beginning of what Caleb said runs slightly similar to Fjord’s imagined response, but that’s where the similarities end.

And to hear now that Caleb doesn’t want to go to anyone else, that Fjord is the only person he seeks this kind of comfort from… it makes something in Fjord’s chest stir, and Fjord doesn’t know how to dampen down the feeling darting through his veins.

_I am the only one who gets to experience this_ , he thinks, and knows that it’s a selfish thought. Caleb isn’t his. Caleb doesn’t belong to anyone, and even if he wanted to in some way Fjord would have no claim over him. Caleb is his friend, first and foremost, and there’s no guarantee that this _will_ continue to be something just between the two of them as days and weeks and months past. Fjord could get tired of it. He doubts he will, but he still acknowledges it as a possibility. Hell, Caleb could find someone he wishes to be with, and start sharing their bedroll instead of Fjord’s (and Fjord does his best to ignore the quiet jealousy that rises in him at that thought), and then he would have no need to come to Fjord.

Anything could happen, and Fjord has no guarantee or confirmation of _anything_. He should savour these moments while he has them, and leave the universe to do as it sees fit.

He sighs a little, quietly, and lets his hand come to a rest on Caleb’s back. Caleb’s skin is warm beneath the fabric of his sleep-shirt, and it’s hard for Fjord to stop himself from trailing his fingers down, from rucking up Caleb’s shirt and seeing just how warm his skin is without the separating layer of fabric between them, but he does. That would be crossing the line, and he refuses to do that. This is too important to him. _Caleb_ is too important to him.

And Caleb is likely expecting a response, because Fjord can feel him growing tenser against his side with every second that Fjord remains silent.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and Caleb relaxes immediately. “I- I’m glad I can help you sleep.”

Caleb hums a little, a soft, wordless sound, and presses himself back against Fjord’s side, seeming content to let the conversation end there.

Outside the tent, the remaining embers of the fire smoulder quietly.

“Fjord?” Caleb asks suddenly, when enough time has passed for Fjord to start drifting back to sleep.

“…Yeah?”

“May I ask a question?”

Fjord shrugs and yawns. “Sure.” It’s a weird night, and he’s ready and willing to calm any worries Caleb may have. He knows he’s leaping to assumptions a little bit, but it’s not a far stretch to imagine that Caleb’s going to ask him something else about their sleeping arrangements to try to give Fjord another reason to _not_ let Caleb in his tent, despite everything that they just said.

“What do you want?” Caleb asks unexpectedly, and Fjord swallows.

Because that tone…

Caleb is a perceptive man, and Fjord knows that very well by now. He is quiet and watchful and observant, and Fjord knows just how unwise it is to forget that; he is a man with many secrets of his own to hide after all, and Caleb’s perception feels like it could cut through glass at times, feels like it could slip through the bones of his skull and find whatever truth he’s hiding away behind them, ugly as that truth may be.

Fjord wants- Gods, he doesn’t know _what_ he wants. He wants to keep Caleb safe, and happy, and keep his demons away by any means necessary. He wants _Caleb_ , in whatever capacity Caleb is willing to give him. He wants Caleb in his arms and he wants Caleb by his side in battle and he wants Caleb to rest his head on Fjord’s shoulder like he had one time when they were in the cart on the road, when the sun had been glinting off the wheatfields and bathing the whole world in gentle golden light and Caleb had been reading all day until he eventually dozed off, book still open in his lap and his head cushioned on Fjord’s shoulder, and Fjord had wrapped an arm around Caleb’s shoulders because he didn’t want the bumps in the road to make him fall off his seat and when Caleb woke up again Fjord didn’t even notice, because Caleb’s head was still on his shoulder and his arm was still around Caleb and the only indication he’d had that Caleb was awake was the soft rustle of pages turning once again.

Gods, he wants that. He wants that easy comfort they shared, wants to trust Caleb with his entire being and be trusted in kind. He wants Caleb to seek him out in the night not because of nightmares but just _because_ , just because he wants to spend time with Fjord even if both of them are asleep for it.

He wants Caleb.

He wants Caleb so much it almost hurts.

“I think,” Fjord says, and swallows again to wet his dry throat, “I think, right now, that I want to kiss you.”

There’s movement against his side, and for a few terrifying, heart-stopping moments, Fjord is certain that he crossed the line. That this is _it,_ that Caleb is getting up and he’s moving and he’s going to- he’s going to go back to his tent or find someone else and he’ll never talk to Fjord again because he doesn’t feel the same way and now it’s just _awkward_ and _awful_ and Fjord should never have opened his mouth to begin with, and Fjord’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that it takes him a while to realise that Caleb _isn’t_ actually trying to leave Fjord’s tent but is instead shifting himself to be closer to Fjord’s face, scooting up the blankets and turning to look at him.

The tent is dark, and Fjord has never been more grateful for the darkvision granted by his half-orc blood. There’s next to no light seeping through the canvas, not with the fire burned down to embers and the stars and moon overheard shrouded in clouds, but in what little light there is Fjord can make out what looks to be a blush creeping across Caleb’s cheeks and staining them darker.

He watches as Caleb’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, feels Caleb hand settle light and cautious on his hip, and Caleb’s gaze is as powerful as that of his patron when he looks at Fjord.

Fjord cannot look away.

“Then do it,” Caleb whispers, his face a scant few inches from Fjord’s.

And Fjord does.

**Author's Note:**

> Do all my Widofjord fics end with them kissing in tents at night? Apparently so...  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fic! If you have any requests or prompts please feel free to drop me a message at my [tumblr](https://crunchywrites.tumblr.com/)! Also, there may be a sequel or sorts to this in the works, so keep your eyes peeled :)


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